


Constant and Ever-Changing

by ebenflo



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bible Camp, Bottom Credence Barebone, Emotional Baggage, First Kiss, First Time, First Time for Everything Fest, Hurt Original Percival Graves, M/M, Mary Lou Barebone is Her Own Warning, Multichapter, Older Man/Younger Man, Rating May Change, Religious Conflict, Slow Burn, Summer Romance, Top Original Percival Graves, late 80s early 90s, stick with me on this one, summer camp tropes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 08:27:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9811259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ebenflo/pseuds/ebenflo
Summary: Percival Graves is the solemn caretaker and owner of Lone Pine, a crumbling ranch now repurposed as a communal space sometimes leased out to groups when he is running low on funds. Credence Barebone is the repressed adopted son of Mary-Lou Barebone, leader of a staunch fundamentalist group.Over the space of two long, lazy weeks in the summer of '89 their worlds will collide, and neither man will ever be the same again.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Everything you recognise belongs to Jo Rowling. Unbetaed: all mistakes are mine.

He woke at ten to five every morning, with the sun barely poking its head up above the horizon. He didn't need to get up at this hour, not any more, but it was habit. His alarm clock barely had to ring before his hand would slap it silent, before sliding out of bed. His feet would fumble for his slippers even if he placed them right next to the bed the night before. They were navy and lined with wool, and almost threadbare. He would need a new pair soon, or at least that's what he told himself. He would rise silently, rubbing his weary face with tired hands. He did most things silently, and alone. Percival Graves was a man of few words, and those he did use were saved only for when he really needed them, like his once a week trip into town to buy whatever he couldn't grow on the land - which was almost everything. It had been years since the farm had thrived. Years since the orchards were pregnant with fruit and the spring calves plump. He tried not to think of those days but when you lived a quiet life sometimes the memories were the only noise you had left in your head. Long nights were chased away with the drink when he got desperate, but he tried to stay away from that too.

Graves padded into the kitchen, automatically flicking the switch on the coffee machine. It spluttered, the light blinking erratically before it let out a small spurt of smoke and stopped altogether. He frowned. Another thing falling apart around here. He mentally added it to the growing list of things that did not work. Another thing he would fix tomorrow. Maybe he could do without coffee. The days were getting longer and warmer after all. He peered inside the fridge, grimacing at the sticky and messy orange juice container, half-emptied by the girl he'd brought home last night. Some blonde bargirl from Texas Joe's, whose teeth and hair were long, but with a mouth like sin. Graves gave it a second thought and emptied the remainder down the sink. Water, he could still have water.

He raised the glass, cloudy with unnoticed grime to his lips, squinting out across the misty blue and barren fields to the gently swaying swing at the far perimeter of his yard, cloaked in the darkness before dawn. The laughter of ghosts called to him from his distant past and for a moment he let them go, until his attention was called for by a rusty pickup gathering dust down the only inroad to his place. Graves frowned and looked down at the little square on his watch showing the date, before looking back up at the red pickup, closer now. Mary-Lou Barebone's group of wayward youths weren't due to have their little "kumbayas" for at least another week. He hadn't even started clearing up the makeshift dorms and mess hall he'd constructed several years back, by the barn. Unless...this was the bank. Graves' frown deepened. He thought he'd settled with them to keep the hounds off his back for twelve months; he had three to go.

But when the car ground to a halt in front of his aging house it was neither Mary-Lou nor Mr Abernathy from the bank, but a young man Graves had never seen before. Lanky, but folded in upon himself and obviously trying hard to take up far less space than his tall, slender frame should have filled. Shoulders hunched like he was trying to avoid unseen blows (Graves would later confess to himself that he wasn't sure where his severe assessment came from). Graves supposed that this was the time he should make introductions and find out who his intruder was, to come to his gates at such an hour on a Monday. He tugged on a worn cardigan that matched the greying of his temples and yanked open the screendoor.

"Yes?"

And then the boy looked up at him, tightly clutching a small satchel bag and a thick, leather-bound book to his chest. Hair dark as midnight and closely cut in an ugly crop that made his face seem younger than his years. He couldn't have been more than twenty, anyway.

"Mister Graves?"

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the short chapter, this was more of an introduction. Please leave a kudos/comment if you enjoyed this and would like to see more! :-)


End file.
